Dead But Not Delirious
by Harrygirlie
Summary: Hadn’t I gargled and swished my mouth with water for so long that my cheeks ached? How could the taste of him still sit on my tongue so heavily, like a tainted sweet?
1. A Little Hell of My Very Own

It needed a bit of a rewrite…tweaking, if you will. I'm fanfic obsessed at the moment.

-HG-

"Somebody shoot me!" I begged to no one in particular, as I very thankfully escaped a train compartment on the Hogwarts Express, under the premise of a trip to the restroom.

Harry, Ron, and me…sitting in a space that couldn't be more than five feet by five feet. Well, in fact it was probably bigger than that, but honestly, do I look like some sort of carpenter? I really had no _idea_ of the size. Not that it mattered…come on, can you say "sexual tension"? I certainly can. Sexual tension. Oh, _bloody_ good.

It was like being rendered immobile and placed beneath a steadily dripping faucet…I believe that sort of thing is called "Chinese Water Torture"? There was really no water in the compartment, though, so perhaps the experience should be called something more along the lines of "Chinese Visual Rape Torture". I was completely and utterly unprepared for the sudden…er…_preoccupation_ that my two closest friends had developed over the summer months. Ron, who was never very tactful or subtle to begin with, had picked up the unnerving habit of staring at me out of the corner of his eye when he seemed to think I wasn't aware of him doing so. It wasn't so much that I wanted to thoroughly and entirely discourage him from thinking I was attractive (that would have been a nice change, really, considering it took the wart an interminably long while to realize that I was even female)…it was more the fact that it seemed he had only just begun to personally manufacture testosterone, and therefore was very amateurish at preventing himself from gaping like a dying fish.

And Harry…I truly hope I was just imagining the slight protuberance of his eyes when I first walked into the kitchen at the Burrow that morning. However, Harry was dealing with "becoming a man" with much greater restraint than Ronald. I only caught that one look, and then he seemed to get over his surprise.

It wasn't as though I had changed much over the summer. Really, I didn't. I gained the slightest bit of weight, mostly concentrated in the pectoral region, but I didn't look all that different. My hair was as bushy as ever, and unless I had truly missed something, I still wasn't any Muggleborn Bombshell. I was seventeen, for cripes' sake. Shouldn't they have been expecting me to _look_ seventeen?

Then again, my choice of wardrobe for the day wasn't the most well thought out I've ever donned. I wore a rather unremarkable green tank top and a pair of knee-length jeans that, in my humble opinion, did between little and nothing in the way of flattering my too-thin legs. However, showing even the slightest amount of skin was never the wisest choice when you were planning on spending upwards of five minutes inside of a closet-sized space with two very hormonal teenage males. It seemed that at this point, our friendships were not quite enough to prevent Harry and Ron from seeing me through "Hermione is a girl, and girls look different under their robes" goggles.

Thus, I had felt it exceedingly necessary to take a little break from the incredible discomfort that was so smothering inside of the compartment. The air in the hallway felt oddly cool on my face, and it was with a pang of irritation that I realized that I must have been blushing. Dammit. I strode down the corridor to the lavatory and peered into the mirror. My face had taken on the precise shade of Mrs. Weasley's homemade raspberry jam. How charming.

"Granger? Looking at herself in the mirror? Is _that_ what the world's coming to?" I would have recognized that voice anywhere. It was the same snide, drawling voice that had introduced me to the wonderful world of Playground Insults of the Wizarding Variety. "What, are you expecting to look at yourself and suddenly _not_ be an ugly Mudblood?"

Of all the rotten luck…Did it _have_ to be Draco Malfoy that I ran into in the otherwise empty corridor?

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, I spun on my heel and turned to face him. Same old, same old. His blond hair was slicked back, per usual, although a slight bit longer than the previous year. His eyes were as cold and unyielding as ever, and the smirk…well, the _smirk_ still held the same malevolence as it had for the past six years. It was rather unfortunate, really, that he was such a slime of a human being; if his face hadn't been poisoned by his Death Eater father's influence and the enormity of his wealth, he might have been handsome. But alas, coming of age in the wizarding world did not seem to have brought about any change in Malfoy's spoiled, sneering persona.

"Malfoy, go find someone else to bother," I replied dismissively, making a very bored shooing motion with my hand. I wasn't too interested in verbally sparring with him today. I would've much rather been using my time to figure out how I was going to survive an entire year of my best friends' inability to escape the throes of their own hormones.

"Are you too busy being _filthy_ to want to talk to me, then?" Malfoy answered with as much innocence as one so fully putrid could muster. He quirked a white-blond eyebrow at me, but the frozen eye beneath it betrayed his charade.

Really, what a positively _stinging_ insult that was. If I was bothered every time a Slytherin directed the word "filthy" at me, I would've gone round the bend long ago.

"You miss my point. I simply want very strongly to remove myself from your presence," I said truthfully. With a sarcastic smile, I began to walk very casually past him.

In retrospect, probably a mistake.

He seized my wrist with a surprisingly strong grip, effectively halting my walk to freedom. "Where do you think _you're_ going, Mudblood?" His voice was so annoyingly amused, as though my trying to end our encounter was a simply ridiculous notion, that for a split second an image of myself giving him a swift kick in the family jewels occupied my entire field of vision.

"Oh, please, Malfoy," I spat, attempting to tug my arm out of his grasp. Although this maneuver was not successful, I continued to speak as though I was completely in control of the situation. "I am going back to my compartment." I tugged at his grip a second time, this attempt equally ineffective. "_Good-bye_, Malfoy!"

I really should learn to quit while I'm ahead. My act did nothing to slacken his hold on me, and he was now looking highly amused about something. I felt a flush crawl hotly across every inch of my skin when I realized that his eyes were no longer fixed anywhere near my face. They were, in fact, riveted to the newest bane (or, perhaps, _banes_) of my existence.

"_You bloody pervert_!" I shrieked, finally wrenching my arm free. He drew his eyes lazily back to my face, and his smirk was suddenly so leering that horror scuttled sharply through my veins. His ogling made me feel roughly as vulnerable as if I'd actually not been wearing _any_ clothing, as opposed to _perfectly respectable Muggle attire_.

It was no good. I was going to have to kill him. I drew my arm back and slapped him full across the face. Oh, it felt _good_. I hadn't done that since third year. Stupid git should've remembered that I _do,_ in fact, have the capacity to become violent as it suited me. And it bloody well suited me. He looked quite shocked for the moment, so I took the opportunity to make my exit. I gave him a sweet, satisfied little smile and made to leave.

"See you at school," I said breezily, waltzing past him without a single iota of remorse; a fact I'm reasonably sure he picked up on, because as I slid open the door to my compartment wearing a self-satisfied little smile, he yelled, quite rudely, actually, "FUCK YOU, GRANGER!" at my retreating back.

I shut the door very quickly behind me, hoping that Harry and Ron would simply think that Malfoy was excoriating some unfortunate sap that happened to share my last name. Goodness knows I didn't relish the idea of an interrogation.

As it turns out, I was really in no danger of being questioned. Malfoy's passionate scream apparently paled in comparison to the importance of my reappearance in the room, in all of my summer-clothed glory. "Long bathroom break, eh?" Ron commented dimly, thoroughly proving my theory.

I warily took a seat next to Harry, fervently hoping that I was imagining the appreciative look he sent my way. No, no, no. _Not_ Harry. _Harry, no!_ _Snap out of it!_ It was shaping up to quite the miserable afternoon. I couldn't even bear to imagine the horrible year that awaited me if my best friends were going to continue this rash of sheer male idiocy.

Quite suddenly, I heard the most blessed voice on this green earth. Despite its wheezy, Filch-esque quality, the announcement that we were about ten minutes from Hogsmeade Station was one of the most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard in life. I would soon be _free_!

"You hear that? We should change into our robes," I suggested immediately, conveniently forgetting to think before speaking. Oops. Tally one up for Hermione. Ron and Harry gaped at me, then at each other, and, by their expressions, an innocent bystander would be led to believe that I had actually suggested we engage in a session of ménage-a-trois. _Goood_ going, Granger.

"You—you don't mean…you're going to change _in here_?" Ron croaked, his eyes growing so large that I couldn't help but think of Dobby the house elf.

I laughed nervously. "Ron, don't I always?" He didn't reply; instead, he gulped audibly and continued to stare at me through eyes the size of Galleons.

"Merlin, you both can _turn around_ while I put my robes on, can't you?"

Harry, who hadn't done anything out of the ordinary up until that point, opened his mouth as though he was going to protest. However, I quelled him with a pointed glare. "Don't be thick. Turn around, both of you."

Surprisingly, they obeyed. Once I was finished, I kindly turned while they changed, so as to spare them the last shred of the modesty that was surely already damaged beyond repair at the prospect of dressing in front of bossy old Hermione. For cripes' sake.

We all finished pretty sharpish, no one being really all that comfortable with the situation. The back of Ron's neck was violently red, and the same shade splashed the tips of his ears and the highest spot on each of his cheeks. Harry didn't look any the worse for wear.

"Hogsmeade Station," wheezed the Voice of Heaven from the speaker above our heads. Thank you. Thank you!

I couldn't get out of that stuffy hell of a compartment fast enough. I was so excited at the prospect of wide, open, hormonally neutral spaces that my fingers fumbled in their attempt to undo the door latch. In the space of the few seconds it took to finally quit being an idiot and slide open the door, it seemed Ron had placed himself in rather close proximity to my very uncomfortable self. As soon as the door opened, I vaulted into the hallway with the fervor of a Muggle film actor fleeing the threat of a large explosion behind him. In comparing the two situations, I suppose that would have made Ron the dangerous bomb, planted in the airport vending machine by a cunning terrorist group.

Unfortunately, it seemed I had rather gracelessly bowled over another person in my daring escape.

"Get the hell off of me, Granger! Are you out of your Mudblood mind!" my very favorite person in all the world fumed from beneath me. Why did my hapless victim have to be the _ferret_, out of all of the people in the entire bloody train? _Why_?

I scrambled to get off of him with amazing speed. I was not eager to prolong the unnecessary contact, thank you _very_ much. Malfoy immediately got to his feet, glaring down at me so coldly that, for a split second, I experienced a wild fear of being turned into a Prefect Popsicle.

"_Hermione!_" Ron exclaimed as he and Harry stepped into the hallway, noting that I was not, as they may have assumed, standing.

Harry was the first to piece the situation together. I was sprawled out on the floor, no doubt looking very undignified, and Draco Malfoy was standing over me wearing a less-than-friendly expression.

"Problem, Malfoy?" he growled, and even from my disadvantaged position on the ground, I could see his fists clench at his sides. Ron quietly came around and helped me to my feet, sending Malfoy a Very Nasty Look.

"Not at all, Potter. Granger here happens to have just _thrown_ herself at me," Malfoy replied, his sneer inverting to an even more unpleasant smirk. Oh, _right_, Malfoy. How observant.

I strode forward, fully intent on setting the record straight. I got right up in that abnormally pale face of his, and sucked in the sort of deep breath one needs before letting loose a barrage of ego-damaging words. It was because of this unconscious action that I got a very heady whiff of a cool, musky cologne that, I was forced to admit, was rather delicious, as far as alcohol-based spritzes go. I took another little sniff. Yes. Definitely a very _good_ scent. Which is why I felt such a crazed horror when I realized that the Eau de Shaggerific was emanating from the blond Slytherin smirking boldly before me.

Kill me.

I shook off the cologne-induced haze and leveled Malfoy with a glare that surely blazed with the fires of all nine levels of hell. I mean, the nerve of him! First suggesting that I bulldozed him _on purpose_, and then having the arrogance to strut around smelling like…oh, I honestly had no grounds for comparison. It was an experience all of its own.

"Keep your fat mouth _shut_, Malfoy," I hissed, now doubly irritated because his stupid cologne had given me pause. His face was very close, so that I could see the cold glitter of his eyes. He was going to grab me again, I was sure of it.

There was really nothing else to do except knee him in the groin.

Malfoy gasped very loudly and doubled over. Although I was slightly disappointed that his reaction hadn't been more girlish, I couldn't deny that it was a very _fulfilling_ sort of abuse that I had just administered. For the moment, I was entirely cleansed of anger, and was at peace with the world.

"Oooh, sorry…that didn't _hurt_, did it?" I simpered. I can be absolutely abominable at times, and this was certainly a splendid opportunity to do my worst.

"You'd better get the fuck away from me, Granger," Malfoy panted as he stood, meeting my eyes with an icy shock. Get away from him? Funny, I felt a sudden strong urge to do exactly that.

"Come on, you two!" I said with a powerful air of false cheer, grabbing both Harry and Ron by the sleeve and tugging them off the train with me. What an excellent start to the year!

Isn't it June yet?


	2. Starting Afresh

"So, have either of you seen the new Defense teacher?" Ron asked with a surprising amount of articulation, given that his mouth was entirely stuffed with roast beef. Men have no manners.

"Ron, _honestly_. Chew, and swallow. _Then_ talk," I instructed before having the presence of mind to stop myself. I had inadvertently aged myself about sixty years with that remark. However, considering the boys' behavior during the past couple of hours, perhaps giving off a grandmotherly aura would be an effective deterrent to unwanted attentions.

Then again, ever since we'd left the train, Ron and Harry had been treating me very normally. I mean, I hardly thought that Ron would've eaten like a barnyard animal if he was still concerned with my femininity. Due to the several layers of cloth now covering my breasts, my friends seemed to have forgotten that they ever existed. Thank _Merlin_.

"Yes, mother," Ron replied with an amount of contempt that I could've easily predicted. It wasn't exactly difficult. It didn't often matter what I said to him, I would always get an edgy response.

"I heard that he…or she…isn't arriving until tomorrow, for whatever reason," Harry broke in loudly, giving us the Look that signaled that Ron and I were to end our bickering that instant or else experience the intensity of One-Volume-Only Harry.

For the only time I could ever remember, I truly did not care one bit about the new teacher. The only thing that I cared about at that moment was the announcement of Head Boy and Head Girl that would directly follow dinner. Not that there was a great load of doubt overwhelming me, or anything; I was aware of my position at the top of the class. I just would've liked to get the whole bother over with so I could relax. Knowing our Headmaster, there could easily be an upset. I remembered Harry's father, who hadn't been a prefect but had somehow secured the position of Head Boy.

I really could not fathom surviving the year knowing that someone inexcusably vapid, such as Lavender Brown, had stolen my most sought-after goal directly from beneath my summer-freckled nose.

"Students!" Dumbledore bellowed from the staff table, his voice cutting through the din of the Great Hall with the efficiency of a hot knife through butter. Everyone decided it would be a good idea to shut up right about then.

"This year, we have decided to wait until the Welcoming Feast to announce the Head Boy and Head Girl for the seventh-year class—"

I'll admit, I may have growled slightly as he said this. It really was unfair for him to up and change the normal procedure just for the hell of it. Even _more _unfair was the fact that he had changed it for the only year it would ever impact _me_.

"So, without even further ado…this year's Head Boy is Mr. Draco Malfoy, and Head Girl is Miss Hermione Granger."

Whew.

Wait.

WHAT!

My private moment of relief and my proud sense of accomplishment felt like they'd both been pricked with a pin. Trust stupid DRACO BLOODY MALFOY to deflate my moment of triumph!

For a moment I considered just not moving at all. I could always pretend that I'd forgotten my own name. Hermione _who_? Granger? Don't know her. And she's most definitely _not_ me. No, sir.

Malfoy was named Head Boy. I'd heard it with my own ears. If someone had suggested to me yesterday that Draco Malfoy would get the most prestigious honor Hogwarts could give him, I would have laughed heartily in the informant's face.

But I couldn't deny that Dumbledore had just said the accursed words, and I had just heard them. The only possible explanation was that all of the laws of the universe had been changed approximately one minute ago. I actually convinced myself of this for a few blessed seconds, entirely expecting to crash up to the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall, because surely the center of gravity was now _up_, not down…

"Hermione, he wants you to go to the front table," Harry informed me, breaking into my personal evaluation of physics with a nudge of his elbow.

I couldn't even muster a reply. I tried, but all that came out was a miserable sighing sound not unlike a rapidly deflating rubber tire. It was exceedingly difficult to even bring myself to my feet.

"Miss Granger?" Dumbledore called from the very front of the enormous room. Malfoy had already come up to stand beside the headmaster, who was peering over his glasses in the usual way, smiling as though I had something to be _happy_ about. But, had he simply looked to his left, where he would've seen living proof that organisms _do_ sometimes participate in reverse evolution, he may not have been beaming at me like that.

It may have been a residual effect from the news of my own appointment to greatness, but my mouth somehow twitched into a very unnatural smile. I felt like a piece of machinery as I made my way to the front of the Great Hall. Very lifelike, but a robot nonetheless. In dire need of oil, actually.

It felt like years before I finally reached Dumbledore, who shook my hand with a vigorousness I could not even begin to return.

Malfoy offered his hand to do the same.

Wait…what's wrong with this picture? I simply stared at him for about thirty seconds, trying to figure it out. Ah, yes. The part where Malfoy was acting chivalrous. See, it didn't compute in Automaton Hermione's motherboard. Draco Malfoy would not have recognized chivalry if it did a striptease and flipped him the bird.

I searched his face for a sign that this was not actually Draco Malfoy, but a very lifelike wax replica. His lips curled into a sneer before my very eyes. Nope, wax can't move.

I decided there was no acceptable excuse for not shaking his hand in front of the entire school and its staff, so I bit the bullet and very gingerly clasped his hand in mine. He tightened his fingers convulsively, and I fought not to show any outward sign of pain, or even of surprise. The _idiot_ was trying to break my fingers.

In order to calm myself, I took a nice, deep breath. Unfortunately, said breath was taken in close proximity to Draco Malfoy. Meaning I got a noseful of that bloody cologne for the second time that day.

Mercifully, before I could get too lightheaded from the scent, Malfoy let go and stepped back. Dumbledore took this as an opportunity to clap a bony hand onto my shoulder, and apparently Draco's as well.

I was numbly aware of him informing the masses that Malfoy and I would be sharing our very own dormitory. I was already very far-gone down the road of sorrow by this point, so this terrible news only served to give me a splitting headache, due to the laughter and applause it generated.

Being Head Girl was shaping up to be incredible fun. So fun, in fact, that I really sort of wanted to die.

- - - -

"Ouch! What the hell did you do that for!" Malfoy snarled at me. It seemed I had "accidentally" knocked my trunk rather forcefully into the soft spot behind his knee as we approached our dormitory. Oh, I felt absolutely _terrible_ about it, too.

"What the hell did you try and break my hand for?" I shot back, although I thought the answer was probably nothing more complicated that the fact that he hated me with every fiber of his being.

The Slytherin made a derisive, disgusted sort of sound and didn't answer. I figured as much.

"I'm sorry, Draco," I said sweetly, taking a new tactic. Perhaps if I called him by his first name, he would become so utterly aggravated with me that he wouldn't be able to bear my presence at all.

If only I were so lucky.

"_What did you just call me, Mudblood_?" he spat, turning around to assault me with a look of death…and, to my dismay, another soft draft of that accursed cologne.

Despite my knees promptly feeling a bit weakened, I hit upon a brilliant idea right about then. As he glared at me, obviously waiting for some sort of response, I pinched my nose delicately and blinked as though trying to clear my head. Which wasn't entirely an act, but of course, he couldn't know that.

"_Draco_! What'd you do, _bathe_ in Eau de Dead Hippogriff?" I exclaimed in very false repulsion. I released my nose and instead waved my hand about in front of my face for a moment, as though trying in vain to dissipate a very unpleasant smell. In reality, I was secretly delighting in breathing in the steady aura of whatever the hell he was wearing.

His eyes flashed dangerously. "I don't wear cologne, Granger. Don't waste my time," he sneered, turning abruptly away from me and pulling his trunk down the hallway behind him with renewed vigor. Leaving me gaping after him like an idiot.

He doesn't _wear_ cologne? Is it possible for a human being just to smell _that damned good_ without any help? I was getting slightly dizzy thinking about it.

I managed to regain my composure, most likely due to the sudden absence of the _scent that affected me very much_.

"If you say so," I said airily, as I breezed past him, hitting my trunk against the side of his leg as I went. Of course, inside I was still reeling just a little bit, wondering what particular brand of evil went around smelling like bottled masculinity of its own accord.

The portrait that would have normally sealed off our own private little wing was opened to its fullest extent, so I didn't even have a chance to see what the painting looked like before I entered.

I walked into what was unmistakably the common area, for the simple reason that there was not a single shred of red _or_ green visible anywhere.

Now, my bedroom was an entirely different story. Instinctively taking the left-hand hallway, I found myself facing a veritable _fortress_ of red and gold. Red and gold area rugs sprawled grandly across the gleaming hardwood floor. Red and gold tapestries depicting crowned lions hung upon the high stone walls. Red drapes framed the windows, and golden ropes held them open to admit the shine of the full moon. A red bedspread fringed in gold covered a rather lush canopied bed. The canopy itself was, of course, heavy red velvet that dropped to the floor on all four sides, comfortably similar to my bed in the girls' dormitory.

As I said, nothing but red, red, and more red. With a little touch of gold, gold, and more gold. It was actually sort of ridiculous, but I figured it was much easier to deal with than the dragon living down the hall, so I decided not to complain.

Speaking of which, just then an irritated blond head poked into the room. "Dumbledore wants us in the common room," Malfoy said contemptuously. He paused, and took in the sheer Gryffindor quality of the room, his eyes narrowing. "Bloody hell," he muttered before ducking right back out.

The common room was quite nice, I had to admit. It had a large fireplace, which was already well on its way to warming the room, a sizeable, cushy-looking sofa in a warm toffee shade, and two equally inviting armchairs of the same color. A deep brown area rug covered most of the stone floor, and there was a low mahogany table placed just in front of the sofa, looking to be very convenient for use as a footrest.

I cast a quick glance down the opposite hallway to the Head Boy's bedroom, the door to which was hanging wide open, and noted that the decoration there was as obviously rooted in Slytherin as mine had been in Gryffindor.

"Just a few basic rules you both need to know," the headmaster began, appropriately drawing my attention back where it belonged. I walked further into the room and perched gingerly at the opposite end of the couch as Malfoy. I tried to ignore the disdainful look he was aiming at me, reminding myself that it would do no use to acknowledge it right in front of Dumbledore.

"You must be back here by ten o'clock every night. You will, like the other students, be confined to your dormitory after this time, although due to your duties as prefects, you may be required to patrol the hallways on certain nights. There will be a schedule for nighttime watch posted in the Great Hall tomorrow morning." He gave me an odd look that I distinctly felt indicated that he didn't really expect me to follow this rule, considering my past history. The expression was gone very quickly, and he regarded the both of us once again.

"Furthermore, I believe that if you look behind the portrait in Mr. Malfoy's bedroom, you will be quite delighted." Dumbledore gave us this mysterious smile, as though we should have had any clue what the hell he was going on about.

"Don't even think about it, Granger," Malfoy hissed at me out of the corner of his sneering little mouth.

"Like I want to go into your _bedroom_?" I replied, rolling my eyes. In truth, I was just the _slightest_ bit curious. But I'd be damned if I would let that on to Ferret-Boy.

"You wouldn't be the first," he stated with a pompous smirk. Somehow I didn't doubt that. But that was entirely beside the point. The point was that this human ice cube had worked himself into believing that I would rather go to bed with him than eat a dead cat. When in fact, it was just the opposite.

"Also, please try your best not to kill each other. There are no other new rules for you." He handed us each a sheaf of parchment. "Here are your class schedules. Pleasant dreams."

I looked over the neat script written across my paper in perfect lines. It seemed my first class the next day was going to be Potions. Bloody _perfect_.

I heard the muffled _clang_ of the portrait closing behind Dumbledore. Meaning that I was truly trapped with Draco Malfoy. I scanned the rest of my schedule, seeing that, according to a note at the bottom of the sheet, the password that would open our portrait was "Ever-Bashing Boomerang". Splendid.

"Well, I'm going to find out what the nutter was going on about," Malfoy sneered, getting up from the couch and walking away, _as if_ he thought I would be content to just sit there.

"I'm coming, too," I informed him very matter-of-factly, hurrying after him and ignoring the evil glare with which he attempted to intimidate me.

Oops. Hadn't I just said that I wouldn't ever want to go into his room, or something like that? Oh, well, as Dumbledore once said, the wisest of us must sometimes eat our words…Onward!

I tried not to faint from the onslaught of bright green that greeted me as I crossed the threshold into his room. It was almost blinding, but somehow, I survived. We stepped up to a rather dusty painting of an elderly witch, who smiled toothlessly down at the both of us.

"Well, we'll be needing a password, I expect," I murmured, more thinking aloud than actually trying to converse with the new Head Boy.

Malfoy snorted. "No shit, Slytherin."

That _irked_ me.

I grabbed him by the collar and tried very valiantly to haul him around, so that the stupid git was facing me. I was extraordinarily successful in my attempt to manhandle him, but he ended up turning around anyway, looking rather homicidal.

"Listen. We're going to have to come to a truce, or something, or we're going to end up killing each other."

"Granger, I wouldn't rule that out as a possibility just yet," he spat coldly. His eyes glinted with a malicious pleasure when he spoke again. "If I were you, I would _never_ go to sleep."

Okay, I'll admit, that bit frightened me just in the slightest.

But I forgot all of that pesky shock when the painting in front of us slid very suddenly to the right, revealing a very dark crawlspace carved through the stone wall.

"But…what? We didn't even say the password," a stunned Malfoy protested feebly. I could already tell from the look of him that he wasn't too keen on hopping headfirst into the slimy little hole we had just discovered.

The withered crone in the portrait grinned toothily at us, or as toothily as was possible, given that she had only three very yellowed teeth. "Sleep, dearie. The password is 'sleep'." One of her wrinkled eyelids squeezed shut in a complete abomination of a wink. "Now, don't you forget it, handsome."

_Eeeurgh._

Deciding to begin ignoring the old witch, I stepped forward and peered into the opening revealed by our inadvertent use of the word "sleep". It smelled very strongly of mildew, and the couple of feet into the passage that were sufficiently illuminated by the light in the bedroom looked unnervingly moist.

"Well, should we?" I turned and implored Malfoy. He looked rather grim at the prospect of soiling his new robes in the grimy crawlspace, but surprisingly enough, he gave absolutely no snide response. It seemed we were to temporarily lay aside our differences in light of this very intriguing, albeit slightly forbidding, discovery.

He sighed, and removed his robes to reveal the green-edged sweater vest and green-and-silver tie that were necessary staples of the Slytherin uniform. I supposed I'd been right about his wanting to keep his Madam Malkin's clean.

"Might as well."

The momentousness of this statement took a few seconds to register. It would appear that…

Draco Malfoy, spoiled pureblood snob and one of my archenemies since the age of eleven, had just _agreed with me_.

I concealed my shock rather well, I thought. I picked my jaw up off the floor and smiled warily at him. He gave me a "Don't push your luck" sort of look, so I turned right back around and crawled into the opening.

"Lumos," I murmured, raising my wand and hoping the sudden addition of light would not reveal any hidden nests of any sort.

I moved along enough so that Malfoy could get in behind me, and tried to ignore the little voice in the back of my head that commented on how perfect this area would be to hide my body, should my new dorm-mate decide to kill me.


	3. Threats and Cookies

Thankfully, after a few moments of proceeding down the slimy crawlspace on my hands and knees, the tunnel grew very rapidly larger, so much so that I could stand without even needing to duck my head. Thank Merlin. My robes were beginning to feel very grimy indeed.

Now, to a normal person such as myself, the Lumos spell I was currently employing with my wand created sufficient illumination to prevent oneself from running into other things. Or people. However, it seemed Malfoy was not as normal as I in this respect, because no sooner had he, too, stood up, than he trod quite heavily on my foot.

"Watch it!" I snapped. "You're not exactly a pixie, you know." I flounced onward, trying to ignore the unsettling feeling of swelling that now rocketed through my injured appendage.

I could practically _hear_ Malfoy rolling his eyes. "My apologies, Mudblood," he sneered in a way that, of course, carried not the faintest trace of remorse. It seemed we were back to our less-than-civil treatment of one another.

I continued to walk forward, until I found, very suddenly, that I _couldn't_. I was plastered very uncomfortably against a wall of cold, wet stone. Splendid. A dead end. I knew exactly what dear old Draco was going to say…

"Keep _going_, why don't you?" he said irritably, stumbling right into me. Very predictable reaction, might I add.

"I would if I could, _Draco_," I retorted, shoving him back a step so that he wasn't quite so unnervingly close to me. "But it appears we've reached a dead end."

It was not the first time I'd found myself wondering if Dumbledore, despite being the most powerful wizard in the world, really was a bit of an idiot. Had he sent us on a wild goose chase on _purpose_? Argh.

"Well, get the hell out of the way, then!" He strong-armed me to the side, a touch too forcefully, sending my right shoulder reeling into the unforgiving stone. _Ouch_. Crummy bastard. That hurt.

"God, Granger, how could you miss this _doorknob_?" he sneered contemptuously. I didn't have much time to contemplate the weirdness of a doorknob being installed in a solid wall of rock, because he turned the little bit of brass just then. Causing the wall to fall away. Causing him to lunge helplessly forward. Causing him to be a complete _git_ and grab onto the sleeve of my robes in a futile attempt to stop himself from falling. Causing _me_ to be dragged down with him. Bloody _hell_.

We then slid down a long expanse of chilly, wet stone at an unnervingly rapid rate. I jerked my sleeve out of Malfoy's grasp and tried to maneuver as we slithered along so that I _wasn't_ melded to him with the great speed we were experiencing. I actually managed to get a little bit ahead of him.

Looking back, that was a bit of a mistake.

It seemed like we'd covered a kilometer of hidden slide by the time our own momentum threw us unceremoniously off of a ledge, onto yet more stone.

I landed in a very painful spread-eagled position. Immediately after which my companion saw fit to use me as a landing pad.

"Get the hell off me, Malfoy!" I groaned, his weight squeezing the air from my lungs exactly like toothpaste out of a tube. It struck me momentarily how funny I would find this situation later, seeing as how it was a complete reversal of the earlier fiasco on the Hogwarts Express.

He didn't move just then, and I was beginning to feel very awkward. The pressure of a masculine body sprawled on top of Hermione was not only a very new experience, but also one that she _really_ did not need at that particular time. Not to mention that the proximity of the Ferret-that-Was caused a very noticeable spike of that accursed cologne/pheromone/whatever the hell it was, directly into my very unprotected nostrils. Whew.

If I _ever_ find out that heavenly scent was actually cologne, I will personally send a large box of chocolates to the manufacturer. Bloody Merlin. If the very good-smelling male form atop me was _not_, in fact, Draco Malfoy, it was pretty much a given that I would've gone out of my mind with lust.

However, it _was_, unfortunately, the Ice Prince that I was dealing with. No fun for Hermione.

"I DON'T HAVE ALL BLOODY DAY! GET THE HELL AWAY BEFORE I HACK OFF YOUR DONG!" I finally shrieked, shoving at him with all my might. I felt a slight blush rise in my cheeks; where on earth did _that_ come from? I don't think I had ever referenced that particular part of the male anatomy in my entire _life_. I shuddered slightly. I suppose having two teenage boys for best friends does have some ill effects.

Malfoy, meanwhile, seemed to get the picture quite clearly, because he scrambled awkwardly to remove himself from me. It would appear that he was taking my threat seriously. Cute.

I painstakingly dragged myself to my feet, trying to ignore the aching little protests my body brought up as I did so. I wrinkled my nose as I regarded my slightly dirty uniform, and brushed off a particularly large bit of muck. Completely by accident, the offending grime landed squarely on Draco's still rather clean-looking sleeve. Gulp.

"Idiot wench," he growled, giving the slime a look of utmost revulsion. "That had _better_ not stain."

"Oh, my _apologies_, Draco!" I squealed girlishly, picking the chunk off of his shirt and thoroughly ignoring his loud huff of annoyance. It seemed my plan to irk the Slytherin was right on target.

"All better!" I chirped, grabbing his elbow and hauling him up to a standing position. "Now let's hurry up and see what's down here, so I can go to bed."

To my well-disguised surprise, he followed me without comment. We rounded a bend in the corridor, and, stepping into the bright orange light of a wall-mounted torch, I saw something that made me give a little shriek of astonishment.

"What? What is it?" he asked in shockingly civil confusion, staring at me as though I'd suddenly sprouted a third arm. Truthfully, it wouldn't have surprised me much, given the already very high strangeness factor of the day.

"The _kitchens_!" I exclaimed in amazement, rushing over to still life that hung on the opposite wall. A bowl of rather mouthwatering fruit looked innocent enough, but I knew better.

The day had just gained another few weirdness points.

I reached up and tickled the green pear, which had been painted with little droplets of moisture on it. Just looking at it made me remember how hungry I was, considering I'd entirely rejected the food at the Welcoming Feast for fear of making myself sick.

The pear giggled in a way that actually was quite eerie, before turning into a handle. Beautiful. I grabbed it and pulled with what little might I retained after the unexpected events following my Head Girl induction. So not much might at all. However, it was enough.

The painting swung wide open, and I leapt back out of the way to avoid being knocked over. Of course, jumping backward placed me right in the spot already occupied by Draco Malfoy. I scampered away from him rather quickly, not eager to give him yet another reason to barrage me with insults.

Before we even entered the kitchen, I could smell things baking. Things like ginger cookies and lemon cake. Things that, consequently, made my mouth water, and my very painfully empty stomach gave a loud grumble of longing.

"Come on, Malfoy!" I urged, turning around. He was staring at the newly-revealed doorway with a slack, stunned sort of expression. It was quite obvious to me that he wouldn't be moving on his own for some time, so I took the initiative and yanked him into the kitchen by his tie. Once I'd successfully dragged him over the threshold, I rolled my eyes and let go, after he seemed to come to himself enough to make a few desperate, choking sort of noises.

The very instant we entered, no less than twenty tiny, skinny little house-elves crowded around us. Seemingly unfazed by the fact that it was about ten o'clock at night, they all grinned obligingly at us both. Mere seconds later, Malfoy and I found ourselves in possession of a hefty tray of sweets each.

Despite my vehemence that house-elves should not be made to work in places such as the Hogwarts Kitchens, my excruciating hunger addled my brain somewhat. I lost all self-control, and put all my efforts into fervently devouring a particularly delicious mound of frosted teacakes.

Malfoy, meanwhile, looked very unimpressed. I remembered that he was probably quite used to house-elves. I cast a look back at him just in time to see him toss several cute little gingerbread cookies to the floor and grind them beneath his heel.

"I hate gingerbread," Malfoy said snidely, intent on turning the fruits of the poor house-elves labor into veryfragrant dust.

"_Draco!_" I hissed, smacking him smartly on the shoulder with a napkin. "Would it kill you to _pretend_ to be human every once in a while?" I glared at him for a moment, before recalling the threat that had been so very effective previously. I leant very close to him in order to whisper in his ear, not keen on giving the house-elves a view of my nasty side.

"I'm willing to bet on there being a very large number of _cold, sharp knives_ in this kitchen," I breathed ominously. "_Clean it up._"

He jerked his head round to stare at me. "You don't scare me, Mudblood," he whispered venomously, but I noticed his eyes betrayed a hint of panic.

"Excuse me," I asked the nearest house-elf very sweetly. "Would you mind bringing me your most effective cutting utensil?" I smiled encouragingly as the surprised little creature went toddling off to fulfill this latest whim.

My dorm-mate paled very rapidly and looked momentarily conflicted, before crouching down. I relished the sight of Draco Rich-as-Sin Malfoy dropping to his hands and knees and shoveling the remnants of the rejected cookies back onto his platter. Such extraordinary power stems from the natural male tendency to protect his private parts at any cost. I figured he recalled the little incident on the train, as well as believed my impure blood to carry the sort of craziness necessary to castrate him.

I smiled with satisfaction as I bit into a very tasty lemon bar. It also did my heart good to notice how much more efficient Draco suddenly became at cleaning, once a squat house-elf toting a rather sizeable meat-cleaver drew into view.


	4. He's an Odd One

I sat down heavily at the pretty, well-polished vanity in my new bedroom, sighing at my very tired-looking reflection. Now that I'd finally had something to eat, I was feeling quite ready for bed.

I looked over the personal effects that were laid across the gleaming surface before me. A comb, a brush, and a hand mirror, all of very fine quality, and all having antique gold handles. Whoever had decorated my room had gone so far as to give the _hairbrush_ a touch of Gryffindor. Merlin.

I gingerly picked up the well preserved, but nonetheless _old_ hairbrush, and dragged it with great difficulty through my hair. Oh, my hair. I would've found it perfectly acceptable, had it not been so dreadfully _bushy_. The color suited me just fine, but the frizzy quality that I had inherited from my mother nearly sent me into fits sometimes. As it was, the hairbrush hit a snarl almost immediately. I growled under my breath and attempted to get it out with the conveniently wide-toothed comb with which I had been gifted. Unfortunately, I was not entirely successful. The hair in that spot ended up looking rather poofier than before.

I gave it one more try on a different section of tangles, but I was rewarded only with an aching scalp and a significantly hairier brush.

"Hmph," I grunted in irritation, slapping the implement back on top of the vanity and standing from the accompanying bench in one fluid motion. I gave a last, disgusted glance in the large mirror reflecting my own hideousness back at me, and walked huffily over to my bed. I wrapped myself in my fluffy white robe, which was a slight comfort, and strode across the room, peering warily out of the doorway.

The common room looked very inviting, indeed. The fire had been going since we had first arrived, so by now it was as large as the hearth would permit, casting a dim glow over the rug, and warmly silhouetting the furniture. I decided that it seemed like a perfect opportunity to try out the _new_ common room and see how it stacked up to the one I was sort of missing, up in Gryffindor Tower.

There was definitely _one_ difference I could think of. Ugh.

I took one step off of the hardwood floor of my bedroom, and gasped at the sudden coldness meeting the soles of my bare feet. I'd forgotten how chilly the stone floors could get. I tiptoed very quickly over to the warmth of the deep red-brown rug, attempting to minimize the contact of frigid stone to my skin, and made myself comfortable right in front of the fire. I stretched out luxuriously on the surprisingly plush carpeting and enjoyed the feeling of the heat washing over me.

I was just beginning to feel very sleepy and entertain thoughts of perhaps just dozing off right where I lay, but a derisive, irritated sort of sound issued from just behind me. I rolled over so I could see, knowing, of course, that Malfoy would be standing there looking sullen and glaring at me as though I'd somehow offended him.

I simply smiled up at him in a way that I fervently hoped was very irksome. I was too warm, comfortable and drowsy to muster up the energy to do much else.

"What do you think you're doing?" he snarled, looking for all the world as though he'd caught me doing something unreasonable.

I allowed myself a little laugh. "I don't believe I have to report to _you_ before using _our_ common room." I arched my back as I stretched a bit more, letting out a little sigh of contentment. Nothing like rubbing it in his face, I suppose.

He glared at me, and I was dimly aware of him making another irritated noise, but he didn't reply. Which was absolutely fine with me. I was quite fond of having the last word, and when it concerned Draco Malfoy, it was even more satisfying than usual.

Which is why I felt a sputter of indignation when he sat down right next to me, glaring so coldly that I felt the lethargic, pleasant warmth I'd so been enjoying flee entirely from my body. Suddenly, I wasn't feeling at all sleepy anymore.

"Granger." His voice was biting, harsh, and altogether very unpleasant. I _really_ didn't like the way he was looking at me. I felt suddenly and truly threatened, as I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd suddenly whipped out a knife and sent it lunging through my heart.

"Yes?" I returned, using all of my self-control to prevent my voice from betraying my fear. What on earth did I have to be afraid of in _Draco Malfoy_? Good Lord, was I ever feeling like an idiot. And still, I was afraid of him.

I think I actually cried out a little bit when his hand darted towards me very abruptly, because he moved in exactly the way I had imagined he would, in order to drive a length of metal into my flesh.

Which is why I went momentarily numb when I realized he hadn't stabbed me; instead, he had very roughly tugged on the knot that held my robe tied shut. The numbness, however, was quickly washed out by a resurgence of fear. He _couldn't_ be doing what I thought he might…

"W—what are you doing?" I managed to stammer out. That small bit of rebellion helped fortify me, so I repeated it with much less of a tremor in my voice. "Malfoy, _what are you doing?_"

I snatched the sash of my robe from his grasp, but just as quickly he closed a hand very forcefully onto my wrist.

Bugger. I started up with the trembling bit again.

"You really think you're special, don't you?" he snarled, giving me a look of utmost contempt. I shivered slightly, and couldn't even begin to formulate a reply. He jerked on my arm, pulling me closer to him and further unnerving me.

"_Don't_ _you?_"

"What the hell are you on about?" I whispered fiercely, feeling a little surge of panic when I realized that my voice had very nearly given out.

His face was so incredibly close to mine that I almost stopped breathing.

But then he released me, staring at me as though he could bore twin holes in my skull with those ice-bright eyes. And, I had to admit, I believed he probably could.

"Someone of _your kind_ should not be given the same honor as a Malfoy," he said icily, a sneer writhing onto his face. His voice was low and full of breathtaking malice. "_Mudblood_."

Somehow, it was so much worse than any time he'd said it before. Now, there was no hotheaded, lovable Ron springing instantly to my defense, ready and willing to bruise his knuckles on Malfoy's jaw. There was no Harry at his elbow, steering him away with teeth clenched. I was all alone, in what might as well have been the serpent's lair.

It wasn't even the same as when he had uttered the barb earlier that day. On the train, I had brushed it off and responded with a physical retort. Even on the way to the dormitory, it had seemed harmless, with Dumbledore only a few paces behind us.

Not now...with me lying vulnerable on a rug, him staring down at me with frost in his eyes, it _hurt_. It was no longer the "playground insult" I'd so laughingly dubbed it in my mind. It stung me. His voice was so much more poisonous than it had ever been in the company of others. He truly seemed to hate me, and I could only imagine the pleasure he would feel if he knew how deep his insult had cut me.

"You're not better than me." I gasped the words out, pushing past the proverbial knife in my ribs. I met his eyes, though; I met them squarely and defiantly. And no sooner had I spoken than my voice disappeared completely, evaporating painfully from my throat.

Because as soon as I had uttered that quiet retort, Malfoy had grabbed a handful of my nightshirt and yanked me powerfully forward. I felt a shudder of real fear, quickening through my every vein. But there was also something else, something lurking…

His face was quickly approaching from my own, and I was helpless to do anything about it. I pulled feebly at the hand that held me so fast to him, but even as I struggled, I knew it was no good. A sudden realization hit me like a blast of freezing air; I felt my stomach drop out into emptiness, and my pulse accelerated so quickly that I felt breathless.

He was going to kiss me.

I knew I would never forgive myself if I let him, not like this…not like a seal of ownership…but my body had taken on a mind of its own and was doing absolutely nothing to prevent Malfoy from bringing his lips so close to mine that I could feel his breath on my skin. For Merlin's sake, I needed to get away from him, and fast, before I did something that would make the next year a living hell for us both.

I still couldn't really move, so it was probably a very good thing that, at that very instant, he inexplicably pulled away. It registered only enough to prompt me to tear his hand from my clothing and stagger to my feet. Dizziness flooded my skull so thoroughly that, for a moment, my vision was only a swirling mix of colors. All the same, I stumbled away from him, back into my bedroom, and slammed the door so heavily behind me that I felt the vibration in my ribcage.

It was perhaps the oddest confrontation of my life, and it left me feeling prickly all over, as though I'd fallen asleep in the sun and had begun to crisp. I climbed beneath the covers on the bed, robe and all, unable to stop myself from shivering feverishly. I yanked on the cords that held open the curtains surrounding my four-poster, and sighed shakily into my pillow as they encased me in darkness.

I had no clue how I was going to survive a whole year of this.


	5. A Nighttime Visit

The only thing I could sense was a damp chill that permeated me to my very bone marrow. A heavy blackness enveloped me like a velvet drape, pressing painfully against my eyes as I struggled to see.

Having no point of reference, I had an odd sensation of floating, despite feeling a cold hardness beneath my bare feet. I tentatively took a step forward, moving awkwardly through the dark. My arms invisible in front of me, a small measure to prevent me from smacking into a wall, I began to walk. It seemed that the corridor curved at that moment, because my outstretched hand met smooth, moist stone. I trailed my hand along the wall, following it until I could see a vague whitish shape up ahead.

As I drew closer, I realized that I was seeing a very small window. I picked up my speed so that I soon reached the soft, milky square of light. I peered through a pane of fogged glass, shivering slightly as the moonshine slid over my bare skin like cold silk.

_Bare_?

I cast a wary look down at myself and groaned. No wonder I was so cold. I was not outfitted in normal clothes, not even the fleece pajamas that I had worn to bed. I was wearing a gauzy white nightgown that fell lightly to my calves, and said nightgown had absolutely nothing remotely resembling sleeves.

Bloody _terrific_.

I walked on, feeling slightly bolstered by the addition of a faint bit of light and trying not to think about the freezing sensation crawling upwards from my feet with agonizing slowness. An icy draft skimmed suddenly across the grounds, blowing very unpleasantly upward and biting through my inadequate clothing with ease.

I grunted, glaring down at my feet and wrapping my arms tightly around myself as I continued forward. But no sooner had I drawn my piteous gaze up from the ground, than I felt my heart cease its sluggish beating.

There had been a flicker of movement ahead, just out of the dim reaches of the moonlight.

My heart began to beat again, this time taking my pulse up to a fever pitch. Trembling, I took a few timid steps towards the shadows.

And out of nowhere, two colorless eyes appeared, boring intensely into my own. I stepped backward, gaping, before an entire apparition made itself visible.

I'll admit it, I completely lost my head. I shrieked so loudly that I thought my throat would tear. Utterly terrified, I stumbled backwards and fell gracelessly to the cold ground, my scream cutting off abruptly as my bottom made very abrupt contact.

"Please, don't scream," the phantom implored me softly. I realized that this—_whatever_ it was—had taken on the form of a handsome young man, who was currently peering down through round eyeglasses with visible concern.

He quirked a transparent eyebrow and tilted his head, as though my face was familiar to him and he were trying to come up with the name to which it belonged.

I was experiencing a similar feeling, sure that I had seen him before. I raked my eyes over the odd-looking Hogwarts uniform, the rumpled hair, the thrust of the chin; all strange to me, but yet very eerily familiar…

"I feel like I know you," he commented thoughtfully, still studying me with good-natured curiosity.

"Feeling's mutual," I replied with a slight smile. A little ripple of surprise went through me when I realized that my fear had completely disappeared.

The spirit shrugged, smiling for the first time. It was the smile that threw the switch for me. He looked exactly like…But no, he couldn't be…I was slightly dizzy from the total confusion that was currently running rampant inside my head.

"Who are you?" I managed to ask, irritated that the answer had been so tantalizingly close, but alas, I had not been able to come up with it on my own.

He grinned at me, the shape of his mouth so familiar as he did so, assailing me once again with a very intense feeling of déjà vu. He seemed to sense my frustration and he let out a soft laugh.

"I think you know who I am," he said gently, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

And very suddenly, I did. I flicked my eyes up to his forehead, which was smooth and entirely unblemished. Entirely devoid of a certain jagged scar.

"You mean…y-you're James Potter," I stammered, the shock bringing a rush of heat to my chilled limbs. How _could_ he be?

He nodded, still smiling in the way that Harry always did, and held out a large, strong-looking hand. I blinked at him; surely he realized I _couldn't_ shake his hand?

I figured it would appear very rude to not even attempt, so I held out my own hand to meet his, expecting my clammy flesh to slice neatly through the shining mist that made up his body. But, astonishingly, it didn't.

His fingers gripped mine firmly, and I stared in wonder at our clasped hands. His skin felt dry and frozen, but it was very solid nonetheless. I shuddered involuntary as the magnitude of this action hit me. I was shaking hands with Harry's dead father.

"He looks just like you!" I blurted suddenly, unable to contain the statement as I looked up at the face so like that of my best friend.

James didn't exactly respond in the way I had assumed he would. He let go of my hand rather quickly, and took a step backwards, his expression clouding.

"Who?" he questions, looking bewildered and more than a little suspicious. Oops.

"Harry. Your son," I elaborated, my cold cheeks suddenly burning in embarrassment. What an _idiotic_ thing to say. James was clearly still at school…Harry was nowhere _near_ existence in the reality he occupied.

James laughed very nervously, as though he were trying to placate an insane person without sending them into another fit. Bloody good, he thought _I_ was insane. Excellent job, Granger.

"Well, I think you're rather mistaken. I'm only seventeen and as far as I know I've not gotten anyone pregnant," he said awkwardly, looking extremely uncomfortable and perpetuating the mannerisms of one dealing with a highly dangerous and volatile individual. Effing Merlin, he obviously thought I was going to try and strangle him or some such thing.

I was really awful at this dealing-with-ghosts thing, really. This was almost worst than dealing with Myrtle. _Almost_. At least he wasn't crying.

"W-well," I stuttered, figuring there was little harm in digging my own grave a few meters deeper. "Harry's seventeen now. He defeated V—" Suddenly my voice entirely gave out. I tried to continue speaking, but my breath rattled painfully in my throat and made no sounds remotely resembling speech.

_Of course_. I had been about to, in essence, tell seventeen-year-old James Potter how he died. Apparently, the forces that be had decided this was unwise.

James' brow wrinkled, and he narrowed his eyes at me. "He defeated who?" Then he seemed to come to himself, shaking his head very violently. "No. What am I saying? _I don't have a son named Harry_." He looked at me with the specific brand of distaste borne of a feeling of utter uncertainty. "Get it through your head, girl." He turned away from me then, giving me a solid view of the back of what could have easily been Harry's head.

I swallowed hard. "I'm Hermione. Hermione Granger. I'm one of Harry's best friends," I said loudly, for some reason not wanting him to leave.

James looked back over his shoulder, apprehension darkening his eyes. "Okay…Hermione. What are you doing here?" The lines of his back indicated a great deal of tension. It seemed I was doing very well at unnerving him.

"I—" Wait…what _was_ I doing there? Was it a dream? "I don't know."

He smirked, indicating that a very sarcastic reply was coming my way. However, before he could even utter a single syllable, I felt as though someone grabbed me by the back of my nightgown and snapped me very roughly backwards.

I woke with a start, vaulting to an upright position and breathing with an intensity that felt readily capable of rupturing a lung. I glanced around me, my heart beating fit to burst. It took several moments for my pulse to slow down enough for me to think clearly, when I remembered where I was and what I had done before bed.

Who did I think I was kidding, eating an entire tray of sweets and thinking I would sleep well?


	6. Splish Splash

I tried in vain to journey back to Slumber Land, but it was a very unsuccessful attempt. My brain was still trembling from my strange dream; it wasn't so horrifying as to be called a nightmare, but it was certainly unusual for any other sort of nighttime jaunt to linger in my mind with such brilliant detail. If I closed my eyes, I could still see a shimmering specter in the shape of James Potter glancing uneasily over his shoulder at me.

But being able to recall the dream so well would do nothing to help me fall asleep again. Thusly, I groaned very self-pityingly and pulled myself up far enough to shove aside the nearest curtain.

Imagine my surprise when thin morning sunlight greeted my sleep-fogged eyes. I climbed entirely out of bed and trundled over to the window. Yawning largely enough to split my face, I regarded the very pretty first purple-pink light of dawn with a complete lack of appreciation.

How irritating. I had been cheated out of at least an hour and a half of sleep. I grunted sleepily and fumbled for my robe for an entire minute until I realized that it was still wrapped tightly about me.

Well, I suppose it could have been worse. At least my early rising gave me first go at the bathroom.

- - - -

It was dreadfully nippy in the great bathroom that morning. I fervently wished I could summon my bunny slippers from home, as the floor sent knives of cold up through the soles of my feet. Dead pleasant floors in this school, honestly.

I was a few steps into the room when I took the time to look up. My mouth immediately fell slack, as I gaped at the sort of luxury I had not at all expected to find within the confines of Hogwarts Castle.

Lofty walls of ice-white marble rose to an astonishing height, one surely to rival the Great Hall. Rather than an enchanted mimic of the weather, however, the ceiling was decorated with carvings that scrolled delicately through the same shimmering marble as the walls. I glanced down at the offensively cold floor beneath my poor, frozen little feet, and noticed that the slate-colored stone was significantly smoother and of a finer quality than that I had encountered in the rest of the school.

I shed my robe and reluctantly removed my very warm pajamas, trading these for one of the several black towels I had spotted, hanging on a golden rack by the door. Brrr. Now essentially naked, I tentatively stepped farther into the bathroom, feeling foolish at my own nervousness but stepping very gingerly all the same.

Suddenly, I heard a noise far off to my right. My heart leapt into my throat, a place where it was most unwelcome, and I turned rapidly towards the sound's origin.

No one there. Way to go, Hermione. I was as high-strung as they come. I managed to get my heart back to my ribcage, where it belonged, but I couldn't shake off a slightly edgy feeling as I began to run myself a bath.

The bath was nearly identical to that of the prefects' bathroom, the only obvious difference being its size. It stretched grandly across the floor, at least ten meters long at my best guess. A great variety of jewel-topped spigots ran the entire rim of the impressive basin.

I turned a few of the faucets on, releasing torrents of enticingly-scented water and loads of colored foam. Then I decided to take a little walk around my new bathroom, knowing that it would be several minutes before the bath was ready.

The room was not only lit by a great many tall, slender windows that let in blue-tinged sunlight, but also by a large, decadent chandelier suspended from the elevated ceiling by a thickset golden chain. Each of the thirty or so stout white candles protruding from the fixture appeared to be magicked to burn for a long period of time, perhaps interminably; the flames leapt violet from the wicks and gave off a sweet honeyed smell as they burned.

As I continued my tour, veering left to examine the impressive number of sinks situated against the far wall, I heard what was unmistakably a loud _splash_. Completely set on edge again, I raced back over to the bath, the fragrant contents of which were now reaching a suitable depth. I held the plush bath-towel even tighter around me, suddenly very uncomfortably aware of my nakedness beneath it. I leant over, peering into the water apprehensively. I would not have been at all startled if someone had jumped out of the water, yelling "Surprise!", at that very moment.

But it seemed that no one lurked beneath the thick layer of green bubbles that had spread across the surface of the water. I willed myself to calm down, gingerly taking a seat at the rim and sliding my now-icy feet into the waiting bath.

The heat of the water made my chilled skin tingle luxuriously as it warmed, and the water itself felt sort of silky. I poked idly at the foam surrounding my feet, and sighed deeply. It seemed I had just imagined the splash I'd heard.

As I sat, ankle-deep in the lush bathwater, still not eager to just throw my towel aside and hop in, I noticed a small golden panel inlaid at the edge of the bath, right next to where I sat. I fit my fingers into the small groove at the side, and the panel sprang open.

For a moment, I stared at the contents in utter surprise. Apparently, Dumbledore had seen to it that I was provided with razors. I selected one with a purple grip and examined it warily. Oh, what the hell. I scooped up a bit of foam, slathered it liberally on my right leg, and began to indulge in a pleasingly close shave.

Before I knew it, I was humming an old drinking song Fred had taught me when I'd stayed at the Burrow that summer. I hadn't approved of the sentiment behind the music, but it was an admittedly catchy tune. It didn't take long at all for soft humming beneath my breath to escalate into an entirely audible, assuredly terrible rendition of "I Don't Play Quidditch, But I've An Excellent Broom".

"_BLOODY HELL_!" A very shocked exclamation reverberated throughout the spacious bathroom, and it certainly was not _my_ voice that uttered it.

Thoroughly startled, I let out a scream and sliced myself quite expertly across the shin. After having successful butchered my leg, the razor flew out of my hand and landed square in the water. Watching its flight led my eyes to a scowling blond head poking out of _my_ green bubbles.

"Bloody hell" was right.

My mouth fell open, failing miserably in its effort to string words together into a vaguely intelligible sentence. "What…you're…_what_?" I babbled, realizing with a hot rush of discomfort that my feet were currently dangling in water that _was surrounding Draco Malfoy's naked body_. God bless the invention of bath foam, which was the only thing preventing me from glimpsing the nether regions of the sneering Head Boy.

"What the bloody FUCK are you doing in here, Granger?" Malfoy shouted, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that he was a few bubbles away from giving me a full show. He was much more concerned with viciously castigating me.

My whole body was flushing, though. I was beginning to feel my own nudity quite acutely, and clutched at my towel convulsively.

"What do you _think_ I'm doing? I ran a bath, didn't I?" I snapped, very irritated that I was not only being intruded upon, but also feeling terribly vulnerable, clad in only a rectangle of terrycloth.

Malfoy simply glowered at me from beneath his longish blond hair, which, for once in his life, was not slicked back, instead flopping damply and messily over his forehead. Actually, it was a bit of an improvement upon his usual style, which strongly recalled the Dracula character of old Muggle films.

But I shouldn't have been paying attention to that at all, really. I should have concerned myself with how on earth I was supposed to get myself washed when there was a glaring Slytherin fouling up my bathwater.

I suppose I could have just slid on in. If that course of action hadn't included revealing myself to Draco Malfoy, I would have done just that. But, unfortunately, he was still looking right at me with murder in his eyes, and it was a long way down into the water when measured in the amount of time my body would be entirely devoid of cover.

What other options were there, though? I could hardly just demand that he leave me in peace, could I? I scowled right back at him, my mind racing. Maybe I _could_…

"Damn it, Malfoy, _get out of the effing tub!_" I shrieked, fully intent on putting the fear of God in him if he did not comply. Malfoy's sneer became an even more annoying smirk, and he simply ran his soapy hands through his hair, beginning to shampoo and obviously very entertained by my attempt to order him around. I screamed in sheer frustration. What _now_?

"FINE!" I yelled, glaring at Malfoy with an intensity that should have vaporized him. I rushed over to the nearest faucet, and wrenched the spigot violently on...releasing a deluge of blueberry-scented froth, which was about as intimidating as soggy toast.

"Bollocks!" I growled, looking around desperately. I ran over to a large, unmarked faucet at the front end of the bath, and, with a vicious look at Malfoy, turned it on full blast. This time, clear, fragrance-free water shot forcefully into the bath. I dipped a finger into the stream, and smiled triumphantly. Icy cold.

"Granger, you stupid Mudblood!" Malfoy hollered, crossing his arms and appearing very uncomfortable, all of a sudden. He defiantly stayed put, but I could tell he was feeling the effects of the cold water, because a moment or two later, he gave a very pronounced shudder, looking furious.

"Oh, is it too chilly for you, Draco?" I asked innocently, relishing the sight of the Head Boy shivering resentfully amongst mounds of colorful foam.

He simply glared wrathfully at me, and remained silent.

I grabbed a second towel from the rack by the door, and walked smugly over to the side of the bath. "Get out. _Now_," I ordered, dangling the towel above the water while simultaneously holding my own securely around me.

Giving me a look that, if looks could kill, would have put me six feet under, he barked, "At least turn around!"

Smirking, I looked away, examining the wall nearest me, where I could make out spidery veins of silver running through the ice-white marble. I felt the towel being jerked roughly from my fingers, and suppressed a small laugh.

After a moment, I turned back around, my eyes squeezed shut. "I hope you're through, Malfoy..."

I opened my eyes, and nearly choked on my own breath. Surely the dripping-wet boy before me wasn't Draco Malfoy? The black towel was knotted carelessly at his slender waist, his chest and arms were slick with water, and smoothly contoured with lean muscle...quite nice-looking muscle, actually. His hair was far from repellent, hanging wetly alongside his scowling face. I blinked, and swallowed with some difficulty. Get a _grip_, Hermione. He's a bloody _ferret_.

"Don't think you've won yet, Granger," he snarled, and stalked past me, flinging his dripping hair back, so that I was sprayed with droplets of icy water. I watched him leave, then sighed and sank to the ground.

Now I could finally bathe in peace…after, of course, draining the bathwater.


	7. Brain Bleach Please

Oh, it has been _so_ ridiculously long, has it not? Sigh. But now that summer is here, as you may have noticed, there has been a rash of updating in the HG camp. Enjoy this newest installment, and pleaaase tell me I haven't lost my touch! ;)

-HG-

- - -

Breakfast that morning was very awkward. For one thing, Ron and Harry both stared at me throughout the entire meal. Honestly, I wonder if they even blinked. As I calmly buttered a piece of toast, my two best friends in the world gazed ceaselessly, nervously at me, as though afraid that at any moment my butter-knife was bound to violently lodge itself between their eyes.

I ignored this as best I could. After all, I wasn't feeling murderous at the moment. Not even towards my dreadful dorm-mate. Having gotten one-up on him in the bathroom had just about set a bright, cheery precedent for my entire day.

But alas, there was another reason for the aforementioned awkwardness. And that was the fact that, try as I might, pleased as punch as I was with the actual outcome of the encounter, I couldn't manage to rid myself of the image of Draco Malfoy standing dripping wet and half-naked before my eyes. As one of the most bookish, sexually disinclined girls in the whole of Hogwarts, I'd never seen anything quite like it. Did they sell bleach that one could use on the brain? I felt that was the only way to erase Bathtime Draco from my head. As I turned this thought over in my mind, I felt the slightest change of temperature in my cheeks. _Not that I'd minded it_, I added grudgingly, all the while willing the heat to hurry up and leave my face before—

"Why're you pink?" Trust Ron Weasley to notice something at the very instant I wish he wouldn't. The worst part was the attempted nonchalance with which he said this. I mean, _really_.

"Didn't you notice last night? I got a touch of sun the other day," I responded somewhat coolly. There. That was a believable lie, right?

Harry suddenly laughed, and unfortunately, said laughter did not cease, as it should have when I tried to quell him with a glare.

"Hermione, just admit it. You're blushing."

I gaped at him. Since when does _Harry Potter_ notice bloody _anything_! He's the least observant person I've ever met in my life! Bless his soul.

This presented me with the uncomfortable notion that perhaps he was taking more notice of _me_…I cast a furtive glance down at my chest, but the twins were secured beneath my blouse, sweater vest and wool robe, duly flattened by the school uniform obviously designed to promote an outer image of androgyny. So what _was_ it with him, then?

"I am not!" I insisted heatedly. I grappled with my water goblet for a moment, taking entire too large a sip and sputtering on it. _Oh, excellent job, Granger. Now they'll _never_ question that everything's hunky-dory._ I determinedly avoided the pointed stares of both Harry and Ron as I set my water back down, cleared my throat primly, and focused my attentions on my bangers and mash. _But everything _is_ hunky-dory, though, right?_ I swallowed a moan. Now I was arguing silently with myself in my head! What could be better? _Yes, everything is hunky-dory!_ I thought firmly, shoving my food decisively into my mouth and chancing the teensiest glance upwards.

Ron was staring at me in wonder. "One night with Malfoy was really _that bad_, huh?"

Another near-fatal choking incident occurred just then, me of course being the one with the potatoes stuck in her windpipe. I banged my fist against my chest for a moment, and once I decided that I was going to survive, I cast my nastiest glare at Ron.

_How in God's name did he figure it out?_

This thought was, of course, followed immediately by a rash of vehement denial inside of my skull. _Figure what out? There's nothing to figure, everything's quite all right thankyouverymuch_.

"Oh, it was fine," I lied, now entirely unable to prevent my blush from becoming suddenly quite more pronounced. It seemed my own face was now conspiring against me, resolute in its determination to have my head mistaken for a Quaffle.

Ron gave me this infuriating _knowing_ sort of look and deigned not to reply. Bloody Merlin, no one on this green earth could infuriate me quite so easily as Ronald Weasley.

I wrenched my eyes from his smug mug and looked desperately around the Great Hall. It was no great surprise that, when my eyes landed on a certain former ferret, he was giving me one of those "Kindly die, Mudblood" looks.

_Well, fine,_ I amended. _Malfoy might also possess that ability.._

- - - -

Potions was positively hellacious. I was fully prepared to concoct a little batch of poison along with the day's assignment, and kiss Head-Girlhood goodbye…why not let sweet, sweet death take me, when I'm forced to work at the cauldron _right next to Draco Malfoy_?

Better yet, maybe I should plan on poisoning _him_…dabble a little surprise on his toothbrush…hmm. Very intriguing possibilities that, as a matter of fact, would be rather difficult to put into motion if I went and snuffed it. Thusly, I decided to remain alive.

"Oh, good _Lord_." That drawl did nothing to lighten my spirits. It wasn't as though I'd _asked_ for Snape to venomously decide that Harry, Ron and I were "talking too loudly" and "separate" us for our "own good".

I glared at him and set my cauldron down on the grimy wooden table with a vehement _clunk_.

"I'm not exactly pleased with it, either, thank you," I replied haughtily, removing my things from the cauldron so I could start the day's lesson and have a perfect excuse to ignore Malfoy completely.

A white hand suddenly gripped me very tightly by the wrist. _Oh, not _again. _Get a new "threatening physical action", for Pete's sake._

"Don't take that uppity tone with me, you filth," he snarled quietly. Was it even _possible_ to snarl quietly? I supposed it was, because that was the only description I could muster for the low, guttural voice he was using with me.

I snatched my arm back. "Yes, sorry, Your Purity," I said in a bored tone. It really _was_ almost boring, to be truthful. The I'm-an-arrogant-prick-and-you're-inferior-because-of-your-family schtick was really getting sort of old. Actually, _very_ old, seeing as how it had been his _only_ source of material since second year.

You know, come to think of it, class really wasn't _too_ awful after the initial locking of horns that was neither unexpected nor particularly upsetting. I'd gotten so used to comments about my "filthy blood" that they had really lost their zest.

I finished my Antiseptic Solution before him, of course. I mean, really, the boy seemed to be _crap_ at Potions. The only logical explanation for his good marks in the class was that Snape dutifully graded him highly anyway. _No surprise there_, I thought with a little smirk. The Slytherin had never really struck me as a rival in the intelligence department.

I poured a little of the frothy pink potion into a vial, corked it, and walked very crisply past Draco, whose cauldron was seething with an orangey mess.

Of course, the thought _did_ occur to me that perhaps Draco resented my proximity to him so much that he just couldn't apply himself to his schoolwork as splendidly as usual. He'd never seemed _too_ out-of-sorts in Snape's class. _I suppose that could be it…he _is_ top of the class in here, isn't he?_ I admitted, glum to have to relinquish what I'd thought was a possible flaw.

Not that there wasn't already a sizeable enough list. _Well, okay, so the proverbial two scrolls' worth will have to go without that one._

I returned to my seat after setting my sample on the desk of the always-pleasant Potions Master, and pulled out a history of Wizarding Wireless Network out of my bag. Maybe _that_ would prevent my brain from seceding so far from its normal self as to keep bringing up an image of a soaking-wet Slytherin clad in only a towel…


	8. The Stranger Half of the Species

Hope summer's going well for all…this story's been practically writing itself lately, which is nice…perhaps you will like:) Also, if you had not noticed, I have proceeded to rewrite chapters 1 through 6, so hopefully they have still retained the feel of the story. Let me know!

-hg-

Dinner was shaping up to be rather like breakfast, in that Harry and Ron were closely examining me, as we all once again immersed ourselves in eating. However, Ron made no further comments about me "turning pink", despite the fact that my cheeks began to smolder quite furiously when I heard Seamus Finnegan prattle on about skinny-dipping from several seats away. Skinny-dipping, from what I'd heard, was the rather scandalous practice of swimming in the nude, with either friends or _lovers_, neither of which I cared to picture naked in a water-hole with Seamus. However, care for it or not, the mention _did_ ever-so-helpfully bring up the nearly pornographic image of Draco Malfoy that had poisoned my thoughts since that morning.

I shuddered and began to hack away at my chicken with a touch more relish than was probably necessary.

"Hermione…"

What I neglected to realize was that after a few seconds I had successfully cut through the meat, and was now sawing vigorously and screechily into the plate itself. A fact that was obviously quite apparent to my peers, judging by the tense, cringing postures abundant around me.

"_Hermione!_" Ron repeated, laying a firm hand across my wrist with the effect of halting the offensive noise. My cheeks caught fire again, with the rapidity of a spark to gunpowder. I dragged my eyes from the poor, mutilated remains of my food up to a pair of surprisingly stern brown ones.

I wanted to snap back at him, to say something that would make him forget the psychotic treatment I had just administered to the poultry lying defeated on my plate. But that plan wasn't entirely successful. In fact, all that happened was that my mouth quivered pathetically. It was actually very strange. My throat was suddenly missing the ability of vocalization.

"Hermione, you have _got_ to snap out of it," Ron said in a low voice that seemed tailored to my ears only. A split-second glance over at Harry confirmed that it was indeed _only Ron_ staging this intervention of sorts. "It's only the first day, I know you're not used to things yet, but…" He exhaled softly. "Don't let him get to you, okay?"

I was absolutely _staggered_. Never, ever, _ever_, had Ron Weasley showcased such matured concern for my well-being. This wasn't a Ron arguing hotly with me, with the veiled _intent_ of looking out for me. This wasn't cautious advice, using Harry as the mouthpiece for the both of them. This was entirely new, and entirely strange. Not to mention, awfully _correct_, as well…

Obviously, by this point I was gaping openly, almost unseeingly at him. He looked somewhat expectant, and I had a vague thought that perhaps I should say something in response….but there was the oddest feeling of warmth blanketing my right forearm, and when I realized that his hand was still resting there, I just about lost all capacity for rational thought. It wasn't necessarily bad, oh, no, it wasn't, but the inside of my head was beginning to feel funny because I hadn't the slightest clue what I was doing, and the air in the Hall began to feel very close and I couldn't think right, was my arm sweating beneath his skin, oh, I hoped not…

I chose the least intelligent course of action possible, of course, and turned towards Harry, my mouth going dry and eliminating once and for all the chance that I would be able to speak.

Harry swept his gaze from me to a strangely tense-looking Ron, and then he quirked an eyebrow. His face was rapidly infused with an expression of amusement that I found privately to be quite alarming. Er…

"Are you…holding hands?" So _bloody_ casual, too.

Harry may as well have knocked me in the forehead with his goblet, because I fancied I heard a sort of _clang_ reverberate through my skull, and my every muscle simultaneously froze. Why would he ask _that_? I'm fairly certain a sweet little wheezing sound escaped my lips, my lungs obviously not dealing well with the shock of Harry springing bizarre questions like _that_ on me…

A sound very similar to my own issued from across the table, and Ron's hand flew from my arm like a reflex, like I was the searing-hot coil on the stovetop that he'd just happened to touch. That was certainly a likely scenario, seeing as how I was feeling an immense flush of heat in that spot where his hand had been.

I bit my lip to prevent myself from making any further noises, and glanced swiftly, surreptitiously at Ron.

Merlin, was he ever _pink_.

- - - -

The start of the year was going quite beautifully, then. In my humble opinion, I firmly believed that every resident of Hogwarts in possession of a Y chromosome was in fact certifiably insane.

Honestly…what had just happened with Ron?

I had been drifting through the halls towards my dormitory with very little conscious effort, so I was entirely startled upon coming face-to-face with a painting of a rather dashing young wizard. Ah, the portrait to my _dormitory_. The one I hadn't seen last night. Yes, right.

"Have you got the password, beautiful?" He winked a brilliantly blue eye at me, and tossed a curtain of impossibly lustrous black hair behind a set of very broad shoulders. Oh, I didn't just go weak-kneed, _oh_ no. My kneecaps effing _melted_.

"P-perhaps," I stammered; I _did_ know the password, didn't I? Oh, Merlin, I'm an idiot. A bloody _painting_ calls me beautiful, quite _casually_, might I add, and I lose the capacity to function normally? I mean, I have to appreciate compliments when I can get them, considering the rarity with which this occurs, but I was being inexcusably ridiculous.

The young man appraised me with interest, stirring rather unwelcome flames in my cheeks for what could only have been the seventy-fifth time that day. I was failing terrifically at not noticing the way that his sumptuous navy tunic strained across a very obviously well-muscled chest, or the fact that he had simply _gorgeous_, strong-looking hands that were probably very good at…

HERMIONE GRANGER, SNAP OUT OF IT!

I just could not stand myself. It was perhaps the first time in my entire life that I was being positively swept away by a male's good looks.

Of course, it bloody well had to be a _painting_, didn't it?

It was likely a very good thing that I remembered the password just then, else Malfoy might've left the next morning for class, only to find himself stepping into a puddle of Lust-Liquified Hermione.

"Ever-Bashing Boomerang," I said gloomily, waving a feeble goodbye to the last decent manifestation of life that I would come in contact with until breakfast.

- - - -

"Budge up, Malfoy, I want the sofa," I grumbled in a very authoritative fashion. I needed to relax in front of the fire, and damn it, I wanted to sit on furniture this time!

Malfoy was sprawled elegantly across the toffee-colored object of my desire, and simply regarded me with the sort of sneering contempt that had stopped bothering me several years ago.

"That's not a very polite way to ask," he said coolly. "Sometimes it's terribly obvious the sort of background you've got, Granger."

"Oh, ouch," I snapped, storming around the sofa to glare at him. "I'm not kidding, Malfoy, move!"

Effing Merlin, I had no clue why I wanted to sit on the bloody couch so badly, but I was thoroughly willing to hex the Ice Prince's ears off if he didn't comply.

Malfoy smirked lazily up at me, looking too comfortable to be allowed. He crossed one leg over the other and sighed contentedly (and loudly) as he leaned back against the arm of the sofa.

"I was here first, Granger. You can have it when I'm finished." He was enjoying this exchange, I could tell.

There wasn't really much choice. I withdrew my wand from my robes, and pointed it at his neck.

"You're finished," I said coldly, pressing the wooden tip firmly into the soft spot between his jaw and his windpipe.

To my utter dismay, he grinned in a way that could only be described as feline. It had a quality that made me suddenly very aware of my heart's insistent rattling against my ribcage, and I had an intuitive desire to distance myself from Malfoy at that very moment, for fear of what might happen.

He absolutely called my bluff. His hand was on my wand now, slender white fingers gripping the wood, he was looking more catlike than ever, and I knew, somehow I knew, that something bad was about to happen.

He jerked my wand very suddenly, irresistibly, catching me off-guard…oh, I should have known…I fell onto him with all the grace of a tranquilized heifer.

My faulty mouth tried to shriek "_Malfoy_!", but, as the description "faulty" would suggest, it was not successful in this endeavor. In fact, my vocal cords felt as though they were stuck together like so much overcooked pasta.

It was one of those rare instances where I wished that I could shut off all of the nerves in my body, so I wouldn't have had to feel the shape of Draco Malfoy beneath me, too real, too there, too much…too _him_. It didn't seem to matter much that he was fully clothed, because a dripping-wet, towel-clad version of him was occupying my mind with exquisite, entirely unnerving detail.

I held my breath, trying not to sense his limbs under mine. There was a knee against my lower thigh, a fact I noticed with a burst of agitation that nearly fried my brain.

I realized with complete, consuming horror that_ I was wearing a skirt_.

My body was not responding to the panic from which my mind was reeling; I was dead weight, I couldn't move, thank Merlin I'd landed on my hands so that my face hadn't smashed into Malfoy's as well as the rest of me had…but my elbows weren't feeling particularly steely, it was only a matter of time before they could no longer support my weight (which, at the moment, felt immense).

Up until this point, I had, for the most part, avoided actually _looking_ at Malfoy. I felt a strangling sensation that I assumed was due to my asphyxiating horror, when in fact, the Slytherin beneath me had actually just jerked roughly on my tie.

"Getoffofme," I blurted breathlessly, unable to smack his hand away for fear of toppling face-first onto the smirking blond.

"Oh?" A voice should not be permitted to sound that silky-smooth, that self-satisfied. "It would appear, Granger, that _you_ are the one on top of _me_."

His expression attained a wolf-like quality, as the knee that, until then, had rested casually against my thigh, ground against me with startling force.

Oh, Merlin, he was going to violate me. It was the most horrible feeling in the world, because just at the same time as terror bubbled up in my throat like bile, there was this awful, _primal_ feeling searing through me. No boy had ever done anything remotely that sexual to old Hermione Granger…but no. I gulped down a breath, trying to rid myself of this odd sensation that would have me surrender, that would pull my hands out from under me so that my face would fall vigorously down to his…the very thought of it was so unwelcome, but so fixed. I felt insane.

I looked down at him, down at the face I had so loathed for six years, and realized with a crazy, heated, hateful excitement that his mouth was very close to mine, his breath once again stirred across my lips, and for a very blank moment I was entirely fixated on bringing them together. However, some small vestige of my normal self must've remained, because I held back, just staring at him, at cold, flickering eyes with a darkness painted behind them that didn't take much thought to decipher.

Merlin, Merlin, Merlin, he was feeling something of what I was. Oh, the thought was so terrifying that I could hardly swallow, my throat closing up convulsively.

My blood roared through my veins; I thought I could almost hear it rushing, and I could _certainly_ hear my heartbeat, thrumming like the crazed bass line of a Weird Sisters' single. My skin prickled hotly, adding to my supreme discomfort.

Maybe it was instinct. Maybe I realized just how much trouble I would be in if I didn't move. Maybe my fear finally stirred my sluggish limbs. Whatever it was, I finally, reflexively shoved myself backward from Malfoy, ignoring the bruising force with which that action forced his scavenging knee into my flesh.

"_I hate you_!" I shrieked, hurriedly disentangling my limbs from his, smacking heavily at the offending knee. There was not a shred of common sense lingering in my weary brain by this point, and I was vaguely aware that I sounded like a spoiled thirteen-year-old yelling at her parents. "You're just a bloody _ferret_, and I _hate_ you!"

_And I almost just kissed you_.

I was standing over him once again, no longer knowing where I was, knowing only where I was _not_ anymore; I was no longer sprawled across Draco Malfoy, and I no longer felt panicked, only scorched and tired.

I glared down at him, feeling every inch of my skin uncomfortably hot against my clothing, ready to go collapse into bed, if not for one very irksome detail. A detail which, consequently, had Malfoy looking very pleased with himself and not at all upset at my outburst.

The wanker was twirling my wand between his fingers.


	9. Inopsis

It's been awhile…First EVER attempt at anything remotely resembling smut…be kind. (shields self from rotten tomatoes)

-HG-

A sickly panic gushed through my every vein, almost certainly nudging my blood pressure to dangerous levels. As I stared helplessly down at the absolute _scum_ draped over the couch in the form of one arrogantly smirking Draco Malfoy, I thought I had never before so fervently wished for the gift of wandless magic.

"What should I do with _this_, Granger?" he drawled lazily, giving my wand an experimental swish. His gray eyes were glowing with a sinister sort of light, and his cheeks were softly flushed. Oh, was he ever _enjoying_ this.

"You should give it back to me, that's what!" I said heatedly, my hands clenching uselessly at my sides. I honestly had no idea how to retrieve my wand, perhaps my most important possession, from the absolute idiot before me. I knew if I tried just grabbing it, or some equally foolhardy strategy, Malfoy would thoroughly hex me without batting an eye. Therefore, I had to tread carefully.

Malfoy made a noncommittal sound, examining the length of wood in his hand with a critical eye. "I'm not quite sure what to do with you, exactly," he continued, as though I hadn't spoken at all. I swallowed hard and nearly choked. So he was planning on hexing me _anyway_?

"Not sure what to _do_ with me?" I sputtered, incredulous. "What exactly is THAT supposed to mean?"

There was that feline look again, a subtle change beneath his smirk and inside of his eyes. He sat up slowly, luxuriously, watching me with unreadable eyes.

"Have you ever felt the Cruciatus, Granger?"

Instantly, my entire body went icily numb. He spoke so casually, as though we were discussing the myriad flavors present in the evening meal, but I detected a note of eagerness in his voice.

"Can't say that I have," I replied through gritted teeth, my eyes trained on his face, waiting hopelessly for the sneer, for his amusement with me to dry up. Bloody hell, I would've been thrilled to pieces if he'd sent me away with a look of disgust, as I had come to expect.

"The Imperius?" He was speaking almost clinically now, as though weighing in his mind which Unforgivable Curse would be most enjoyable to cast on me.

I opened my mouth to force out the single syllable –"yes" –but he cut me off, rolling his eyes.

"_Outside_ of fourth-year Defense class," he amended, the classic dismissive tone coming back into his voice.

I shook my head silently. Why on _earth_ was I even responding? He grinned in a disturbingly satisfied way and raised my wand. Oh. _That's_ why.

"I'm not sure which you would hate more, though," he said, almost to himself. "Petrificus Totalus?"

His grin became positively bestial. "Granger, entirely paralyzed?" He stood up and took a slow step towards me. "Unable to…_defend_ herself?" There was something in the way he said the last phrase that made my pulse feel suddenly far too quick.

"No. No, I've got something better, actually," he said, looking delighted and sadistic at the same time. "_Inopsis!_"

A lacy spray of blue light shot out of my wand, enveloping me almost instantly in a glowing web. It felt lovely on my skin, actually, cool and soothing, like water, but with slightly more substance. I was just about to laugh out loud, because Malfoy's spell had obviously done nothing unpleasant to me, when I felt oddly as though I were deflating.

"Oh!" I squeaked, my knees buckling. I crumpled unceremoniously to the ground, where I found, with a horrid, sinking feeling in my chest that I could not move to unfold myself from the exceedingly uncomfortable position into which I had collapsed.

Malfoy strode over, looking pleased. "Here's your wand, Granger." He leant over and dangled it a few inches above my right hand. To my dismay, it seemed I no longer had any control over my muscles. "Why, Granger, aren't you going to grab it?" He had a good laugh about that one. Utterly clever, wasn't it? Immobilizing me entirely and then nearly wetting himself with laughing at little jokes like that? Honestly. I had no clue how the idiot had ever made it to prefect status, let alone Head Boy.

"Oh, how _witty_ of you," I said acidly. Seems that was a bit of a mistake. The next thing I knew, Malfoy was prodding me out of my undignified heap. With the heel of his shoe. It didn't really hurt, though. Except perhaps in the region of my pride.

Eyes like rain-slick steel bore down on me. He wasn't laughing anymore.

I felt my heart begin to thump with uncomfortable force against my ribcage as Malfoy knelt down next to me. There was a terrible darkness in his face now, an intangible quality that sent bile skittering up my throat.

"Can't move, can you?" he said quietly, appraising me. He grabbed my wrist with one hand and placed it on the ground above my head, smirking as I scowled at him. "Although it seems that _I_ can move _you_."

And there was that look again, the black flame that had flickered behind his eyes when I had fallen on top of him, and our lips had been so close that we were both breathing recycled air…

"DON'T YOU _DARE_ TOUCH ME AGAIN, MALFOY!" I screamed, so loudly I thought I might've burst a lung. Surely someone had heard that?

Malfoy tut-tutted and pressed the tip of my wand against my throat, mirroring the threatening posture I'd taken only a short while before.

"You wouldn't want me to remove your voice, would you, Granger?" he said menacingly. He dug the wooden tip into my soft, yielding flesh, and I exhaled sharply. That bloody _hurt_!

But there was something wrong with the sensation of the hard point of my wand being shoved beneath my jaw. The wood didn't feel smooth, as I know it should have. I could sense tiny ridges pressed against my skin, a miniscule bump on one side and a little gouge on another.

"What is this spell?" I demanded, my mind racing through the mental catalog of all of the spellbooks I'd ever read, searching frantically for this one. A curse that not only rendered the victim as immobile as a gob of gelatin, but also seemed to heighten his or her sense of touch to a remarkable level.

Malfoy's smirk was so wide that it nearly devoured his face. "Inopsis." He leaned in close, so that his breath swept across my skin in a rush of air that felt incredibly hot and damp. He lowered his voice so that it was a mere whisper against my hypersensitive flesh. "_The submission spell_."

Oh, _brilliant_.

"Does that mean anything to you, Granger?" he said softly, his words like hot silk on my cheek. "That you have no choice but to submit to me?"

I rolled my eyes as theatrically as I could, despite the fact that I was starting to feel the beginnings of real fear creep through me. "It's not submission if I'm not submitting of my own accord," I said coldly, staring right back at him as he looked me over in distaste.

A spark jumped behind his eyes, and without warning, his hand darted out and closed around my neck. His fingers were hot and astonishingly smooth. My heartbeat was so quick and fierce that I could feel my veins pulsing against his hand.

"It means that I can do _this_-" he spat, letting go of my throat and viciously grabbing onto my clothed breast; the pain was so great that multicolored starbursts erupted before my open eyes. "—and you can't do a thing about it."

"Get off of me!" I ordered breathlessly; his grip tightened so that I almost thought I felt his fingernails slicing into me. I tried to bite my lip, an action that usually afforded a distraction from pain in another part of my body, but found even that to be excruciating.

"Not a bad pair, for a Mudblood," he sneered. His hand moved in a slight circle; even through my blouse that small motion rubbed and pulled my skin unbearably. I couldn't help it; I let out the tiniest of whimpers.

But he heard it.

"Does that _hurt_, Granger?" he asked, smirking with a sinister sort of delight. I didn't reply, but my gasp as he wrenched my—well, if you must know, my _nipple_, although I find the word terribly vulgar—forcefully clockwise was likely answer enough.

As much I fought it, as much as I hated myself for giving in, I couldn't help but lie in motionless horror as one tear slid from each of my eyes. And don't think that was painless, either; have you any idea how _scalding_ tears are?

I'd wondered a few times who would be the first boy to touch me intimately. I'd always had this silly, secret fantasy that maybe it would be Ron, and said intimate touching would lead to Something Important, like a real relationship, then maybe a little redheaded Granger-Weasley or two. Never, in all of my nighttime imaginings, had I _ever_ guessed that it would be Draco Malfoy. Nor had I figured on being put under some sort of pervy sex-torture spell. Bloody Merlin.

"_Tears_?" he scoffed. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and swiped it roughly across my cheek, smearing the saltwater away. "You shouldn't be crying _yet_."

I swallowed hard, trying to force down a particularly insistent wave of nausea. However much he may have deserved it, I truly felt no desire to vomit on Draco Malfoy.

He stared blankly down at me then, indecipherable. My heart began to beat double-time as he lay down next to me, his hand now lying immobile, heavy and hot on my chest. What on earth _now_?

"I've always wondered, Granger," he hissed in my ear; the malice was sharp as a knife. "Do you _taste_ like mud?"

My frantically swirling mind hazed over very quickly, grinding to a complete halt. This was what had almost happened twice now. He was actually going to go through with it. I couldn't breathe, and even had I actually possessed full mobility of my limbs, I doubt I would've been able to move at that moment.

His mouth crashed against mine. It hurt the way the pressure pushed my lips back against my teeth, but at the moment it wasn't actually an unpleasant kind of hurt. The prim Head Girl in me wanted to shout incoherently into his mouth, would've pushed him off of me if I could've pushed at all. But I could only lie there, feeling all manner of things I'd never felt before.

I'd had one kiss in my entire life. Viktor Krum had given me a very sweet, fumbling snog when I'd bidden him farewell at the end of my fourth year. But this was _different_. It wasn't so much him _kissing_ me as it was him taking possession of my mouth.

I could feel my entire body flush as his tongue made contact with mine. Oh, Merlin. Oh, Merlin, I didn't know what to do, because despite the incredible, horrific wrongness of the situation, Malfoy's mouth against mine was sending pleasure humming through me.

It was like fire, really. I doubted this oral rape would've felt nearly as deliriously hot and strange if I hadn't been under a spell.

He was palming me again, this time even harder than before. But I had to admit, coupled with the melting-burning fusion of our mouths, the pain was not the same. I tried to hold it back, really I did, but I couldn't stop it; I moaned, just a little, very softly. But the point is that I actually _moaned_. How ridiculously like a trashy romance novel. Disgusting.

But it certainly didn't _feel_ disgusting.

I vaguely noticed his weight shifting so that he was braced on top of me. I assumed this change was made to obtain better leverage, because a few seconds later I felt a searing-hot hand climb beneath my shirt.

His mouth broke away from mine and trailed downwards, finding the soft spot where my neck met my shoulder. I felt his teeth press against me as he whispered harshly against my skin.

"You're nothing, Granger." A small bite set my every nerve aflame, and I gasped. "Nothing but a filthy Mudblood _whore_."

His words were cruel, but my entire mind was preoccupied with the fact that I could feel burning fingertips edging up beneath the bottom of my bra. The ceiling loomed darkly overhead; I could see it again, could see the pained sparks that filled my vision paint it in reds and blues.

"You _do_ like this, don't you?" Malfoy hissed, hot breath washing over the tender spot where he'd bitten me.

I actually screamed when he scraped a fingernail across the most sensitive part of my breast; had I possessed my normal mobility, I would've been writhing beneath him. As it was, I was doing as much as I could; my insides were trembling, thrashing against the enchantment that held me captive in a body limp as a rag doll.

His other hand was sliding to the waistband of my skirt as he murmured against me once more.

"You do realize what would happen if Weasley saw us, don't you, Granger_?"_ he whispered, spite woven through the words like a thread of ice. "_He'd cry._"

_Oh, my God._ My lungs seized up, expelling my breath instantly, and my heart broke into a million shards of glass; I could feel them stabbing me from the inside out.

"No. Nonono. Get off of me, Malfoy, get off," I could barely speak; the tears came so quickly that I thought my throat might close. When he made no move to extract himself from me, I tried desperately to move my arms, my legs, _anything_. That other hand was going into my skirt, and all I could see was Ron's face, freckles like ink spots against horror-paled skin. Blue eyes watery, blinking furiously, yelling and pretending not to care, but all the while the thought radiating from him like a chill, the thought that he must've never really known me…

"GET…OFF…NOW!" I shrieked, and my arms snapped forward, the enchantment flying off like snow. My body filled instantly with unbearable cold fire, but I shoved Malfoy away from me, tore his hands from me, tried to regain feeling in my limbs quickly enough to run.

He didn't even look angry. Amazed that I had managed to break his spell, yes, but his eyes were only distant, almost glacial as I struggled to my feet.

"What will you do if I tell him?" he asked in a low voice, positively dripping with malice. I noticed that during our tryst he'd dropped my wand. He made no move to grab it as I dove for it, leaving me feeling rather like an idiot for my obvious haste.

"You won't," I snapped, pointing the wand at him, faint with the relief that came from having the thin length of wood gripped in my hand. "You won't, or I'll hex you."

Malfoy got to his feet as well, and I tried not to notice his swollen lips as he smirked. "You scare me about as much as Weasley," he retorted, flicking a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "The _little_ one, I mean."

With that, he turned on his heel, leaving me feeling heated and confused and absolutely horrified.


	10. The Morning After

Thank an upper respiratory infection and Imogen Heap for busting through my stubborn writer's block. :)

hg

- - - -

I woke slowly, the morning dragging me through the gray of restless sleep, feeling more like merciless clawed hands clutching my heel than anything else. The mere suggestion of sunlight on my closed eyelids made something wrench between my temples.

_Don't wake up_, I feebly begged my body. I lay absolutely still for several moments, hoping against hope that I could slip out of consciousness once more, even for just a short while longer.

It took an entire minute of aching confusion to recall why exactly I felt so much like a salted slug this morning. It hit me with the full force of a Bludger to the skull, and my mouth went cotton-dry accordingly.

Hadn't I brushed my teeth? Hadn't I gargled and swished my mouth with water for so long that my cheeks ached? How could the taste of him still sit on my tongue so heavily, like a tainted sweet?

I threw the sheets off and sat up quickly, swallowing hard to quell an incredible surge of nausea. _Easy, girl._ I tried to breathe deeply, but my chest was tight.

Still breathing carefully and trying to ignore the sourness in my stomach, I unfolded my legs and tried to stand. "Tried" being the operative word here; I had to grasp for the bedpost to keep my balance. My joints felt rubbery, my muscles knotted; likely, aftereffects of that wretched Inopsis spell.

I steadied myself and took a step forward; the stone floor was an icy shock against the soles of my feet, and I gasped loudly. _For Merlin's sake_, I thought with a surge of irritation. Gritting my teeth, I walked very quickly to my door, threw it open, and continued on to the cavernous bathroom, wobbling only slightly.

_If _he's_ in here, I'm going to use the lavatory by the Great Hall_, I decided firmly as I crossed the threshold. I glanced around with a pronounced shiver, but there was, thankfully, not a drop of water in the enormous bath, and no other signs of another inhabitant presented themselves.

Malfoy was quite obviously not in the bathroom, but all the same my heart fluttered against my ribcage like a trapped bird. And by Merlin, if it wasn't colder inside than out! I could feel the goose pimples sprouting along my limbs, and realized I'd forgotten to throw on my bathrobe.

_Oh, well_. I went over to the nearest sink, and inhaled sharply at the sight of my reflection. Apparently, my sleep had been even less restful than I'd assumed. The skin beneath my eyes was a bruised, purple-grey color, and the only other part of my face that wasn't pale as parchment was my bottom lip. I'd bitten it in my sleep, and now there was a burgundy line at its center. _I deserve it_, I thought harshly, grabbing for the hairbrush near the faucet. I'd almost finished dragging it viciously through my hair before the damp spot appeared on my nightgown. I slammed the brush to the counter, and leaned there for support.

_That's what he wants_! I told myself, closing my eyes to prevent any more tears from escaping. _He'd love nothing more than to walk in for his morning wash-up and see you crying over the sink._

Keeping this thought at the very forefront of my mind, I quickly brushed my teeth and scrubbed at my face, wanting to be finished before he showed up.

Of course, such plans rarely turn out just so.

My throat tightened when I heard his footsteps enter the bathroom. My stomach turned over instantly, and I thought I tasted bile. _Sodding hell, Granger, you're not going to vomit while he's in here._ I glanced in the mirror to see him casually leaning over to turn on one of the bath spigots; his eyes flashed in the reflection for a split second. _It would be the acid on the cake_.

I wheeled around and walked past him as quickly as though a dementor were hot on my heels, restraining myself from shoving him bodily into the empty tub basin.

I tried not to notice that, in contrast to my overall sickly appearance, Malfoy looked as though he'd never had a better sleep in his life.

- - - -

"Are you sick?"

I snapped my eyes open and jerked my head from where it rested against the back of my hand. "No, no." Ron's face swam into view, eyes bright and freckles sunny. "I just didn't sleep that well, is all."

Harry used his fork to nudge a sausage link across my plate. "You'll only feel more tired if you don't eat," he reminded me, his face all concern and cluelessness .

I came really quite close to saying "I don't deserve food", but figured that statement would be a bit of a tip-off that fatigue wasn't the only thing bothering me.

"I don't really feel like eating." My stomach gave a nauseous quiver of agreement. "Erm—" I cast about for a second for a decent excuse. "I've just begun my cycles."

Both of my best friends made mumbling noises in response and applied themselves fervently to their scrambled eggs.

I sighed and took a long drink of ice water. I really hated pulling the menstruation card, but there are few things a couple of teenaged boys would rather not discuss at length, and vaginal bleeding is one of them.

_At least now they won't make any comments about me looking "off" today_, I thought with relief. The circles under my eyes had no doubt been the next order of business.

As both Harry and Ron were now studiously watching the amount of food on their plates decrease as they ate, I scanned the Great Hall to pass the time. Luna Lovegood had her face shoved in this month's copy of _The Quibbler_, the cover of which proclaimed in lime-colored letters, "New Information on the Rotfang Conspiracy!" One table over, Ernie Macmillan was talking very intently to Susan Bones, whom he'd apparently begun dating sometime over the summer holiday. From the eager look on both faces, I'd wager that they were indulging in some market-fresh gossip.

It was purely by accident that my eyes swept over the Slytherin table, as well; a hot, sickly jolt went through me as Malfoy's gaze met my own. His lips quirked, and he didn't break the eye contact even as the lower half of his face disappeared behind his goblet. I blinked and looked to my plate, not much enjoying the damp chill that had sprung up on my skin.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry chose that exact moment to poke my arm with his finger. He paused, and I turned to look at him just as he poked me again, more slowly.

"Merlin, you're all clammy!"

I slapped his hand away. "_Cycles_!" I hissed through clenched teeth. "Now, what?"

Harry stared at me intently, giving me the uncomfortable impression that the reason for my odd behavior was stamped across my forehead. Unnerved, I cleared my throat, raising my eyebrows to prompt him to speak. He shook his head slightly, as though clearing away cobwebs. "I was wondering if you did those questions for Snape?"

My stomach lurched strongly and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut, as though I could force myself to completely forget the question I'd just been asked.

Because, for the first time in seven years, Hermione Granger had not completed all of her homework.

_Bloody fucking hell._

- - - -

It was difficult to imagine Potions being an even less pleasant experience than usual, but somehow, it managed to be almost as much fun as a tooth extraction.

Thank Merlin that at the very least, I hadn't been forced to sit with Malfoy again. I simply would've had to leave the room, feigning illness or some such thing. Actually, I may not have had to pretend at all; as it was, his presence in the room prevented my stomach from settling the two meager bites of toast I'd had at breakfast, and the cold sweat still hadn't left my skin. My blouse chafed slightly at the damp, tender skin along my collarbone. I cringed. I hadn't checked it in the mirror, but I was fairly certain there was a bruise. _A bruise with effing teeth marks in it_, I thought, scowling.

"You have an assignment due. If your papers are not in a neat stack in the righthand corner of my desk within thirty seconds' time, you will all receive zeroes." Snape curled his lip and turned from the class with a swish, beginning to scrawl the day's lesson across the board in spiky lettering.

I sank lower in my seat, absently biting down directly on the sorest part of my lower lip. Wincing, I glanced over at Harry, who gave me a grimacing, sympathetic look as he moved towards Snape's desk. It was absolutely laughable, but I felt almost a sort of _guilt_ for not having been able to help Harry out with his assignment. Guess seven years of guiding both Harry and Ron through their studies had conditioned me to a sort of "provider" role. How quaint and maternal.

- - - -

I had just sprinkled the third ingredient into my cauldron, when I began to feel eyes on my back. Not the rather common "Ah, yes, someone's looking at me" feeling. More a sensation of two hot needles pricking me between the shoulder blades. Of course, I knew without a backward glance that it was none other than the Head Boy.

Gritting my teeth against the urge to spin around and glare daggers at him, I poured a large amount of undiluted bubotuber pus into the cauldron with greater force than necessary, and droplets of my unfinished Sterilizing Solution splashed upwards onto my face.

"_Argh_," I moaned, frantically swiping the liquid off of my skin and out of my hair. I knew for a fact that even incomplete, the solution was so potent that it had the desired peroxide effect on wounds. Unfortunately, it also tended to bleach other surfaces with which it accidentally came into contact, such as clothing. Or…hair.

Fuming, I finished my potion with no further incidents, not really caring either way, only too aware of the fact that I may very well have white spots peppering the frizzy hair surrounding my face. I corked my sample and brought it to the front of the room, handing it wordlessly to Snape and glaring at him for no reason in particular, other than the fact that it was his beloved Slytherin House that had spat out the dreadful globule of mucus that was Draco Malfoy.

As I passed Ron and Harry's table, I noted that their Sterilizing Solution was a murky violet color, and would certainly only cause infection in any wound to which it was applied. Pointedly ignoring the sluggishly bubbling mixture, I addressed Ron with as calm and low a voice as I could find in my throat, considering that Malfoy was only about ten feet away.

"Does my hair look…funny?"

Ron got that startled-gnome look on his face, as though wary of saying anything for fear of being tossed out of the garden. I suppose I shouldn't have been too surprised, considering the fact that even the smallest comment concerning my aesthetically unappealing mane normally caused a font of venom to seethe from my lips. Of course, the one time such a comment was necessary, Ronald hadn't the bollocks to say anything.

Harry came to the rescue, so to speak. "Er…you _have_ got a little—" Harry awkwardly patted the hair at the right side of his face, and I clenched my teeth, forcing a stilted "Thanks" from between them before turning away and fingering my wand.

Nothing a quick dyeing spell couldn't fix, but _still_. Bloody Potions, bloody Slytherins, bloody… "_Everything_," I huffed under my breath, firmly fixing my eyes on the remaining potion in my cauldron so that I wouldn't be too tempted to glare at Malfoy.

"_Scourgify_," I muttered blandly; the liquid vanished from the cauldron, and I began to put my Potions materials inside. I finished by slamming my text rather violently against the iron bottom, and sat back into my seat with a grunt. It seemed that my irritation with the world at large had poisoned my every action; I couldn't even untwist my lips from the scowl they currently formed.

"Why, Granger, you seem to be having a bad day."

His voice was quiet and weighted with malice, like so much wet silk. Heat flared in my cheeks, but I stared intently at my lap, worrying a particularly bothersome hangnail.

"I could help you unwind later, if you like." He laughed softly, but not at all pleasantly. "Although you may not have much of a say in the matter, if matters unfold as they did last night."

My tongue was clamped tightly between my teeth, the desire to whirl around and flay him overwhelming; I tasted blood, but kept my jaws firmly set, afraid of what I might do or say if I loosened their hold.

The end-of-class bell rang then, and I didn't spend more than three seconds scooping up my belongings and heading for the door.

- - - -

It wasn't until I was seated in Transfiguration, rummaging for my text, when I noticed the smallish scrap of parchment, clinging to a damp spot on the inner wall of my cauldron.

_You might ignore me now, but we both know exactly where you'll be tonight._


End file.
